


bare your fangs

by thanatopis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dry Humping, Enemy Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanatopis/pseuds/thanatopis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just, Daishou gets under his skin like nothing else. It's not enough to try and claw him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bare your fangs

**Author's Note:**

> Of course I'm gonna write about the asshole snek.

Kuroo’s breath is heavy when finally manages to catch Daishou alone. The gymnasium is a big one and Kuroo’s been wandering around the empty halls with a storm cloud hanging over his head, eager to take his anger and frustration out on the captain of Nohebi like he usually always does whenever they happen to be in the same vicinity.

It’s routine, this maddening circle they prowl around each other with their fangs bared. Daishou goes out of his way to get Kuroo intentionally worked up, pokes and prods at the too-sensitive places Kuroo tries to hide from him, but sometimes, Daishou’s face and that infuriating smirk of his is just enough to have Kuroo absolutely _seething_.

Today just happens to be one of those days.

Kuroo snags Daishou roughly by the back of his jersey when he sees the other teen, shoving him none too gently into the wall, his hand pressing down against Daishou’s chest, hard. He makes sure Daishou has difficulty breathing as Kuroo’s long fingers spread, the heel of his palm pressing into his sternum, making Daishou wince. Kuroo wants to make it hurt.

He hates how Daishou brings out this other side of him, this… _ugliness_ that only rears its head when Daishou is near, like Daishou is some sort of magnet attracting his baser instincts.

Kuroo feels filthy, brought down low onto Daishou’s playing field, and when he looks at the other teen, dark eyes narrowed, Daishou seems to know it too. He licks his thin lips slowly, tongue impossibly red as it sneaks out, wetting his bottom lip in a gracious slide Kuroo is helpless against when it comes to watching.

Daishou chuckles lowly, shifting and easing against the wall like the uncomfortable weight of Kuroo’s hand isn’t threatening to push through his chest and rip out his very beating heart. Kuroo’s had dreams about it. They’re vivid and adrenaline filled, like dreams where you’re falling. In those dreams, Daishou is always smiling that sinfully curved grin, making fun of Kuroo even when his heart is still beating in Kuroo’s blood drenched hand.

“Long time no see scrub,” Daishou greets pleasantly, the false nicety of his tone feels like slime against Kuroo’s skin, getting in all the hard to reach places like sand after a swim at the beach. “Still see that your hair is as tacky as ever. It’s called a brush and comb, Tetsurou, surely you’ve heard of it.” He adds cheekily, the corners of his smirk lifting higher.

Kuroo frowns.

Daishou thinks he’s so clever. So untouchable. Kuroo wants to prove him wrong. Always has.

Kuroo doesn’t take the bait. He just shifts closer and the ten centimeters he has over Daishou are never more painfully apparent than in these moments. Daishou bristles a bit at the clear show in difference of height, remembering and no doubt mourning a time where he’d been the taller of the two, hovering high and haughty over Kuroo back in middle school. He was just as infuriating back then too.

Kuroo grins, his eyes intensely bright in the dimly lit hallway. The hand pressed against Daishou’s chest moves purposely slow up towards his neck, calculating, as Kuroo circles his fingers tightly around tendons and bone before loosening. Daishou’s lashes flutter wildly, like moth wings on fire and his lips part on a small, but noticeable inhale that has Kuroo suddenly aching to squeeze harder. Kuroo leans in, lips hovering over Daishou’s, utterly still.

It feels like little bolts of electricity spark and explode between their mouths, ready to catch fire.

“And you’re still fucking filthy it seems,” Kuroo whispers low and deep, and it’s the only kind of pleasant greeting Daishou is ever going to get from Kuroo. Kuroo maneuvers his thigh between Daishou’s legs, pinning him roughly to the spot. He can feel Daishou against his leg, not surprised in the slightest by how hard he is already. Daishou is shameless. He anticipates their meetings almost as much as Kuroo does, maybe even more so, but he’ll never admit to it. Kuroo doesn’t care, as long as he wants it—whatever the hell it is that courses between them.

Kuroo teasingly nudges his mouth against Daishou’s own, making a stunted sound somewhere deep inside his throat when the tip of that devious tongue flicks out and playfully licks Kuroo’s upper lip.

“Slut,” Kuroo breathes, resisting the urge to chase that tongue back into that hot, wet mouth.

Daishou’s chest hitches knowingly at the derogatory term, and he tries to angle into the press of Kuroo’s thigh between his legs, trying to make it more comfortable and enjoyable for himself, but Kuroo’s not having it. He doesn’t let Daishou move how he wants—that’s part of the game.

Daishou laughs shakily, panting subtly now. “Oh? Is that what I am?”

Kuroo shrugs, “Just calling it like I see it.”

Kuroo grinds into Daishou then, a rough drag of his hips that has Daishou cursing and Kuroo’s spine arching into the slow, powerful roll of his hips. It amazes Kuroo how good this always manages to feel; the weight of Daishou’s body against his, writhing and squirming against his, how his breath halves. Kuroo is waiting for the day when this won’t make him burn from the inside out. He hasn’t found anything or anyone that makes him feel this way. Suspects it’s the same for Daishou, who grabs at Kuroo greedily, unashamedly rutting his clothed cock against his thigh.

“And how do you see it?” Daishou asks between pants, the fringe of his side part hanging in front of his left eye, making him looked disheveled. Like his true self.

“I see _you_ ,” Kuroo clarifies with a stiff upper lip, groaning against Daishou’s open mouth, wanting so much, but not willing to give just yet. “A snake, in every sense of the goddamn word. Fucking _filthy_.”

Daishou just laughs, delighted, the lift mocking and light, “ _Hah_ —you say that like you don’t— _nnh_ —like it, Tetsurou.”

He can’t argue that, can’t deny it, and it makes Kuroo mad.

The speed of their hips pick up, and both Kuroo and Daishou’s hands settle at the bony protrusions of their hips, pushing at each other to rock harder and faster, clutching desperately with calloused fingers like they’ll die without this.

“ _God_ , you—” Daishou hisses, throwing his head back against the wall with a shuttering gasp, mouth lolling open as Kuroo grinds over a particularly good spot. He looks so good, brought down so low, and Kuroo can’t help but give into the primal urge of biting at Daishou’s neck, right at the underside of his jaw, tonguing over salty, warm skin.

“Don’t you dare— _shit_ —leave a mark or I swear to god…” Daishou trails off, moaning, sliding his hands over the flare of Kuroo’s hips and grabbing handfuls of his ass, nails digging in through the cloth as he brings Kuroo even closer, moving him faster.

Kuroo jolts, groaning and biting at his bottom lip to quiet the loud sound that echoes and bounces in the long hallway. His hips snap, and one of Kuroo’s hands finds the wall behind Daishou’s head, finding the perfect amount of leverage to dry hump the captain of Nohebi into the wall.

“ _Ah_ , am I gonna make you come in those shorts like a little virgin school boy, Tetsurou?” Daishou pants, taunting, despite the fact that he looks and sounds just about as wrecked as Kuroo does. Daishou opens his mouth to say something else—something that no doubt is going to piss Kuroo off, so Kuroo decides then that it’s a good time as any to kiss the other teen quiet.

Daishou groans into it, at the press of lips, teeth, and tongue and Kuroo forces his neck back with a growl, demanding submission into a kiss that he doesn’t get. Daishou meets Kuroo’s enthusiasm head on with just as much aggression and pent up passion and it sets him on fire, burning Kuroo from the inside out until his insides are nothing but embers. Daishou breaks the kiss with a gasp when he starts coming, clawing at Kuroo lest he float away, hips rotating in tight circles as his eyes roll into his head before his lids flutter closed.

“ _God_ , I’m coming _—_ oh fuck, coming—” Daishou repeats over and over, mouth open, a thin, translucent bridge of spit connecting his lips, bruised red by Kuroo’s kiss. Kuroo bites at those lips, tugging and grunting when he feels his balls drawl up, then release in powerful spurts that have his whole body seizing, seeing starts behind the lids of his eyes.

They pant like dogs coming back down, reluctantly releasing each other and wincing distastefully at the quickly cooling wet spot that soaks the front of their shorts. Kuroo’s got a spare in his gym bag, so it’s not an issue. He’ll go back and change soon. He’s spent enough time here as it is.

“See you in the finals scrub,” Kuroo and Daishou say in tandem. Their eyes meet for a short moment, tepid and all-knowing before breaking their strange connection that never fails to make Kuroo feel uneasy.

Daishou turns away first, haughty, feet carrying him away in the opposite direction, as a carefree whistle falls off his lips and glides its way into Kuroo’s ears.

The uplifting sound haunts Kuroo for the rest of the day…among other things.


End file.
